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best advantage, took his flute from its box, and began to play most

mournfully.

The air was 'Away with melancholy'--a composition, which, when it is

played very slowly on the flute, in bed, with the further disadvantage

of being performed by a gentleman but imperfectly acquainted with the

instrument, who repeats one note a great many times before he can find

the next, has not a lively effect. Yet, for half the night, or more,

Mr Swiveller, lying sometimes on his back with his eyes upon the

ceiling, and sometimes half out of bed to correct himself by the book,

played this unhappy tune over and over again; never leaving off, save

for a minute or two at a time to take breath and soliloquise about the

Marchioness, and then beginning again with renewed vigour. It was not

until he had quite exhausted his several subjects of meditation, and

had breathed into the flute the whole sentiment of the purl down to its

very dregs, and had nearly maddened the people of the house, and at

both the next doors, and over the way--that he shut up the music-book,

extinguished the candle, and finding himself greatly lightened and

relieved in his mind, turned round and fell asleep.

He awoke in the morning, much refreshed; and having taken half an

hour's exercise at the flute, and graciously received a notice to quit

from his landlady, who had been in waiting on the stairs for that

purpose since the dawn of day, repaired to Bevis Marks; where the

beautiful Sally was already at her post, bearing in her looks a

radiance, mild as that which beameth from the virgin moon.

Mr Swiveller acknowledged her presence by a nod, and exchanged his coat

for the aquatic jacket; which usually took some time fitting on, for in

consequence of a tightness in the sleeves, it was only to be got into

by a series of struggles. This difficulty overcome, he took his seat

at the desk.

'I say'--quoth Miss Brass, abruptly breaking silence, 'you haven't seen

a silver pencil-case this morning, have you?'

'I didn't meet many in the street,' rejoined Mr Swiveller. 'I saw

one--a stout pencil-case of respectable appearance--but as he was in

company with an elderly penknife, and a young toothpick with whom he

was in earnest conversation, I felt a delicacy in speaking to him.'

'No, but have you?' returned Miss Brass. 'Seriously, you know.'

'What a dull dog you must be to ask me such a question seriously,' said

Mr Swiveller. 'Haven't I this moment come?'

'Well, all I know is,' replied Miss Sally, 'that it's not to be found,

and that it disappeared one day this week, when I left it on the desk.'

'Halloa!' thought Richard, 'I hope the Marchioness hasn't been at work

here.'

'There was a knife too,' said Miss Sally, 'of the same pattern. They

were given to me by my father, years ago, and are both gone. You

haven't missed anything yourself, have you?'

Mr Swiveller involuntarily clapped his hands to the jacket to be quite

sure that it WAS a jacket and not a skirted coat; and having satisfied

himself of the safety of this, his only moveable in Bevis Marks, made

answer in the negative.

'It's a very unpleasant thing, Dick,' said Miss Brass, pulling out the

tin box and refreshing herself with a pinch of snuff; 'but between you

and me--between friends you know, for if Sammy knew it, I should never

hear the last of it--some of the office-money, too, that has been left

about, has gone in the same way. In particular, I have missed three

half-crowns at three different times.'

'You don't mean that?' cried Dick. 'Be careful what you say, old boy,

for this is a serious matter. Are you quite sure? Is there no

mistake?'

'It is so, and there can't be any mistake at all,' rejoined Miss Brass

emphatically.

'Then by Jove,' thought Richard, laying down his pen, 'I am afraid the

Marchioness is done for!'

The more he discussed the subject in his thoughts, the more probable it

appeared to Dick that the miserable little servant was the culprit.

When he considered on what a spare allowance of food she lived, how

neglected and untaught she was, and how her natural cunning had been

sharpened by necessity and privation, he scarcely doubted it. And yet

he pitied her so much, and felt so unwilling to have a matter of such

gravity disturbing the oddity of their acquaintance, that he thought,

and thought truly, that rather than receive fifty pounds down, he would

have the Marchioness proved innocent.

While he was plunged in very profound and serious meditation upon this

theme, Miss Sally sat shaking her head with an air of great mystery and

doubt; when the voice of her brother Sampson, carolling a cheerful

strain, was heard in the passage, and that gentleman himself, beaming

with virtuous smiles, appeared.

'Mr Richard, sir, good morning! Here we are again, sir, entering upon

another day, with our bodies strengthened by slumber and breakfast, and

our spirits fresh and flowing. Here we are, Mr Richard, rising with

the sun to run our little course--our course of duty, sir--and, like

him, to get through our day's work with credit to ourselves and

advantage to our fellow-creatures. A charming reflection sir, very

charming!'

While he addressed his clerk in these words, Mr Brass was, somewhat

ostentatiously, engaged in minutely examining and holding up against

the light a five-pound bank note, which he had brought in, in his hand.

Mr Richard not receiving his remarks with anything like enthusiasm, his

employer turned his eyes to his face, and observed that it wore a

troubled expression.

'You're out of spirits, sir,' said Brass. 'Mr Richard, sir, we should

fall to work cheerfully, and not in a despondent state. It becomes us,

Mr Richard, sir, to--'

Here the chaste Sarah heaved a loud sigh.

'Dear me!' said Mr Sampson, 'you too! Is anything the matter? Mr

Richard, sir--'

Dick, glancing at Miss Sally, saw that she was making signals to him,

to acquaint her brother with the subject of their recent conversation.

As his own position was not a very pleasant one until the matter was

set at rest one way or other, he did so; and Miss Brass, plying her

snuff-box at a most wasteful rate, corroborated his account.

The countenance of Sampson fell, and anxiety overspread his features.

Instead of passionately bewailing the loss of his money, as Miss Sally

had expected, he walked on tiptoe to the door, opened it, looked

outside, shut it softly, returned on tiptoe, and said in a whisper,

'This is a most extraordinary and painful circumstance--Mr Richard,

sir, a most painful circumstance. The fact is, that I myself have

missed several small sums from the desk, of late, and have refrained

from mentioning it, hoping that accident would discover the offender;

but it has not done so--it has not done so. Sally--Mr Richard,

sir--this is a particularly distressing affair!'

As Sampson spoke, he laid the bank-note upon the desk among some

papers, in an absent manner, and thrust his hands into his pockets.

Richard Swiveller pointed to it, and admonished him to take it up.

'No, Mr Richard, sir,' rejoined Brass with emotion, 'I will not take it

up. I will let it lie there, sir. To take it up, Mr Richard, sir,

would imply a doubt of you; and in you, sir, I have unlimited

confidence. We will let it lie there, Sir, if you please, and we will

not take it up by any means.' With that, Mr Brass patted him twice or

thrice on the shoulder, in a most friendly manner, and entreated him to

believe that he had as much faith in his honesty as he had in his own.

Although at another time Mr Swiveller might have looked upon this as a

doubtful compliment, he felt it, under the then-existing circumstances,

a great relief to be assured that he was not wrongfully suspected.

When he had made a suitable reply, Mr Brass wrung him by the hand, and

fell into a brown study, as did Miss Sally likewise. Richard too

remained in a thoughtful state; fearing every moment to hear the

Marchioness impeached, and unable to resist the conviction that she

must be guilty.

When they had severally remained in this condition for some minutes,

Miss Sally all at once gave a loud rap upon the desk with her clenched

fist, and cried, 'I've hit it!'--as indeed she had, and chipped a piece

out of it too; but that was not her meaning.

'Well,' cried Brass anxiously. 'Go on, will you!'

'Why,' replied his sister with an air of triumph, 'hasn't there been

somebody always coming in and out of this office for the last three or

four weeks; hasn't that somebody been left alone in it

sometimes--thanks to you; and do you mean to tell me that that somebody

isn't the thief!'

'What somebody?' blustered Brass.

'Why, what do you call him--Kit.'

'Mr Garland's young man?'

'To be sure.'

'Never!' cried Brass. 'Never. I'll not hear of it. Don't tell

me'--said Sampson, shaking his head, and working with both his hands as

if he were clearing away ten thousand cobwebs. 'I'll never believe it

of him. Never!'

'I say,' repeated Miss Brass, taking another pinch of snuff, 'that he's

the thief.'

'I say,' returned Sampson violently, 'that he is not. What do you

mean? How dare you? Are characters to be whispered away like this?

Do you know that he's the honestest and faithfullest fellow that ever

lived, and that he has an irreproachable good name? Come in, come in!'

These last words were not addressed to Miss Sally, though they partook

of the tone in which the indignant remonstrances that preceded them had

been uttered. They were addressed to some person who had knocked at

the office-door; and they had hardly passed the lips of Mr Brass, when

this very Kit himself looked in.

'Is the gentleman up-stairs, sir, if you please?'

'Yes, Kit,' said Brass, still fired with an honest indignation, and

frowning with knotted brows upon his sister; 'Yes Kit, he is. I am

glad to see you Kit, I am rejoiced to see you. Look in again, as you

come down-stairs, Kit. That lad a robber!' cried Brass when he had

withdrawn, 'with that frank and open countenance! I'd trust him with

untold gold. Mr Richard, sir, have the goodness to step directly to

Wrasp and Co.'s in Broad Street, and inquire if they have had

instructions to appear in Carkem and Painter. THAT lad a robber,'

sneered Sampson, flushed and heated with his wrath. 'Am I blind, deaf,

silly; do I know nothing of human nature when I see it before me? Kit

a robber! Bah!'

Flinging this final interjection at Miss Sally with immeasurable scorn

and contempt, Sampson Brass thrust his head into his desk, as if to

shut the base world from his view, and breathed defiance from under its

half-closed lid.

CHAPTER 59

When Kit, having discharged his errand, came down-stairs from the

single gentleman's apartment after the lapse of a quarter of an hour or

so, Mr Sampson Brass was alone in the office. He was not singing as

usual, nor was he seated at his desk. The open door showed him

standing before the fire with his back towards it, and looking so very

strange that Kit supposed he must have been suddenly taken ill.

'Is anything the matter, sir?' said Kit.

'Matter!' cried Brass. 'No. Why anything the matter?'

'You are so very pale,' said Kit, 'that I should hardly have known you.'

'Pooh pooh! mere fancy,' cried Brass, stooping to throw up the cinders.

'Never better, Kit, never better in all my life. Merry too. Ha ha!

How's our friend above-stairs, eh?'

'A great deal better,' said Kit.

'I'm glad to hear it,' rejoined Brass; 'thankful, I may say. An

excellent gentleman--worthy, liberal, generous, gives very little

trouble--an admirable lodger. Ha ha! Mr Garland--he's well I hope,

Kit--and the pony--my friend, my particular friend you know. Ha ha!'

Kit gave a satisfactory account of all the little household at Abel

Cottage. Mr Brass, who seemed remarkably inattentive and impatient,

mounted on his stool, and beckoning him to come nearer, took him by the

button-hole.

'I have been thinking, Kit,' said the lawyer, 'that I could throw some

little emoluments in your mother's way--You have a mother, I think? If

I recollect right, you told me--'

'Oh yes, Sir, yes certainly.'

'A widow, I think? an industrious widow?'

'A harder-working woman or a better mother never lived, Sir.'

'Ah!' cried Brass. 'That's affecting, truly affecting. A poor widow

struggling to maintain her orphans in decency and comfort, is a

delicious picture of human goodness.--Put down your hat, Kit.'

'Thank you Sir, I must be going directly.'

'Put it down while you stay, at any rate,' said Brass, taking it from

him and making some confusion among the papers, in finding a place for

it on the desk. 'I was thinking, Kit, that we have often houses to let

for people we are concerned for, and matters of that sort. Now you

know we're obliged to put people into those houses to take care of

'em--very often undeserving people that we can't depend upon. What's

to prevent our having a person that we CAN depend upon, and enjoying

the delight of doing a good action at the same time? I say, what's to

prevent our employing this worthy woman, your mother? What with one

job and another, there's lodging--and good lodging too--pretty well

all the year round, rent free, and a weekly allowance besides, Kit,

that would provide her with a great many comforts she don't at present